


Caught Up In A Great Game

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How different things would have been if Moriarty took the same interest in Molly that he took in Sherlock, and Sherlock had decided he didn't want her blood on his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All The Pawns In The Great Game Take Their Places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doctor_WTF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_WTF/gifts).



> So Doctor WTF gave me what is alternately the best prompt ever and the worst prompt ever over at **sherlockmas** : write whatever you feel like writing. What I ended up writing was a rewrite of “The Great Game” and all of season 2 with the slant that Molly gets pulled into Moriarty's game with Sherlock as one of the obvious targets of it. I had so much fun with this one, I really did. It practically wrote itself.

He didn't like Jim from the moment he met him. It wasn't as though something made him uneasy, but rather he was too obvious. Molly may have not seen it, but then again he supposed Molly was blind to matters of the heart. She saw what she wanted to see, just like a typical lovesick female. He knew she was attracted to him, though who knew why, as he was not anyone's idea of a good catch. He wasn't clueless, he just didn't care. He also knew Jim from IT was a ploy to illicit a jealous response from him. On that, he would not oblige.

When Jim left with Molly, Sherlock glanced at the number he had slipped him. That was blatant, painfully obvious. The man was not what he appeared to Molly. Part of him wondered if he should tell her, let her know that she was deluding herself into thinking he was a suitable match; after all, any man cheeky enough to slip his number to a man while in the room with the woman he was supposedly interested in was either lying to her or playing both sides. But overall, it didn't bother him much, the idea of her not knowing. Let her find out for herself. He wouldn't need to deal with her irritation or anger or tears. It would be better if he kept it to himself.

It was hours later that he saw her again. She appeared to be lost in thought as he went down to her morgue, to the cramped office she had there. She was tapping a pen on a notepad absently, staring into space. He did not want to intrude, more because he did not really want to hear what was on her mind, but if he made an effort to act like he cared perhaps she would remain amenable to him. He cleared his throat and she nearly dropped the pen, turning to look at him with a startled look. “Don't scare me like that, Sherlock.”

“You were lost in thought. It was the only way to get your attention.” He hesitated as he watched her chew her bottom lip slightly. Did he really want to hear what was on her mind, or did he want to ignore it to get his results faster?

She didn't give him the chance to make a decision. “You're an absolute arse sometimes, you know that? No, scratch that. Most of the time you're an absolute arse. I'm tired of it.”

He blinked. Whatever it was that he was expecting, it hadn't been that. His irritation rose slightly. “And what did I do to give you that impression today?”

“The whole thing with Jim. As soon as we left your lab he bolted. All those things you said, I think you scared him off.” She stood up and brushed past him. “Thanks a lot, Sherlock.”

“He isn't everything he seemed. I was doing you a favor,” he said, following her as she left her office.

“Yeah? Well, stop. I don't need you of all people doing me favors like that.” She went to one of her drawers. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I need to borrow a body for an experiment.”

She sighed and looked down. “That's the only reason you ever speak to me, because you need my bodies.” She was quiet for a moment, and then she looked up. “You know what? No. You can't have one until I get an apology.”

“What on earth do I have to apologize for?” he asked, his jaw hanging open slightly. “I helped you.”

“That's it. That's _exactly_ it. You supposedly helped me when I didn't need or want your help. I just want to be happy, Sherlock. Just once in my life, I want to have something nice. And somehow when you're around I get nothing but insults and hurt feelings. I feel worse when I'm done dealing with you, and I'm tired of it. I'm not going to be your personal body vendor anymore. Not until you acknowledge that you treat me like shit most of the time. And not until you promise to stop.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Those are my terms. Take them or leave them. And if you do apologize, you had best be sincere about it. I don't want one of your fake apologies that you fob off on everyone else.”

He looked at her with something resembling respect. Mousy Molly Hooper was standing up for herself. He hadn't thought that day would come. He had to admit, he hadn't thought she would ever say anything about how he treated her. Oh, he knew it wasn't pleasant; he knew he was using her, but he also knew she had her own reasons for allowing herself to be used. Apparently those reasons no longer had any meaning. “I apologize for treating you poorly. I will do my best to treat you with more respect in the future, as you deserve.” He hoped it was sincere enough for her. He was trying. If it wasn't enough his irritation would grow and he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

“I'll accept that apology,” she said with a nod. She moved over to one of the drawers and pulled a body out. “This is the only John Doe I have. Will he work?”

“He'll be fine,” Sherlock said. “Thank you, Molly.”

She blinked slightly. He hadn't even really meant to thank her; it had just slipped out. She gave him a faint smile and then went back to her office to leave him in peace. Perhaps this turn of events would be good for both of them, in the end.

–

The man behind the bombs was crafty, he would give him that. But he felt he had a bargaining chip. Give him the flash drive and get answers. It seemed simple enough. If John had been around he probably would have tried to talk him out of it. John had stepped out to go to the market and hadn't returned yet. He supposed he should be worried, but this was John. He could take care of himself. Sherlock elected not to worry.

He made his way to the pool for the rendezvous. He had been eight years old when he attempted to solve the Carl Powers case. That was what had set him on the long and winding path to this point in his life. And he had answers, but he wanted more. He wanted to know more about the madman who threatened and killed without a care. If he himself was a high functioning sociopath this man was just a garden variety one. He could easily be taken out.

He used his lock pick kit to let himself inside. The lights were on, and he saw the pool on the other side of the doors. He pushed them open and looked around. “I'm here,” he said, raising his voice slightly.

“Sherlock.” He looked to his side and saw Molly move out of the side room. She had on a bulky overcoat that was much too warm for the weather they were having. “He got us both.”

“Who else?” he asked, moving closer.

“John. There's no bomb on him, but he's unconscious over there.” She pointed to where she had come from. “He got me on my way out of the hospital. You were right, Sherlock.”

“Right about what?” he asked as the other set of doors opened.

“Right about me, of course,” the man said. Sherlock turned to look at him. Of course. Jim from IT. “I thought about putting the bomb on your good friend John. But he just wouldn't wake up. So dear Molly here had to suffice.” He made his way over to her. “She's such a fascinating woman. You really should make an effort to get to know her more if I let you out of here. I probably won't, though, so don't get your hopes up.”

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Well, John took more chloroform to knock out. I'm telling you that because you obviously don't care about Molly here. Such a pity, really. I had only intended her to be a pawn in the game, use her to get to you. But I took an interest in her. Just like I took an interest in you, all those years ago.” He grinned at Sherlock, a grin that closely resembled a shark about to attack. “Surprise! I'm your biggest fan.”

“I'm honored,” Sherlock said in a sarcastic voice.

His grin dropped suddenly. “Watch your tone, Sherlock. I have the trigger to her bomb, and I also have another surprise.” Suddenly a red light flashed on Molly's chest. When he risked a glance at John's inert body to the side he saw a light on his chest. “You only get to save one of them. I'm fairly sure who you will choose. Molly means nothing to you, while John is your best friend.”

“I don't care about either of them. Caring is a disadvantage,” Sherlock said with a slight shrug, even though inside he was panicking slightly. He was doing his best to project an air of indifference, but if either of their blood were on his hands tonight he didn't think he could forgive himself. Molly might not be a friend, but the conversation in the morgue had at least changed his point of view on her. He respected her now, just as he respected John. Neither she nor John deserved to die tonight.

“You lie so prettily,” Jim said. He moved over to Molly and reached over, cupping her chin in his hand and squeezing. She looked more annoyed that scared, and Sherlock had to give her credit for not succumbing to panic. He turned her head to face him. “We both know it's utter crap though, don't we? You'll choose John, and I'll snuff Molly's life out like a light.”

“I have information,” he said, holding up the flash drive. “I'll trade it to keep them both safe.”

“I thought you didn't care.” He let go of Molly's face and looked at Sherlock. “The high functioning sociopath, bargaining to save a life he doesn't care about. How touching. Molly, you should remember this if you live much longer. It's some small token that he does like you, at least just a little.”

Molly glared at him. “He's smarter than you, you know.”

“No, he's really not. I got the best of him tonight, used his weaknesses against him. Or rather, his weakness and you. You're just collateral damage.”

“I think it's crap,” she said. “I have faith in him.”

“You have faith in him? How sickeningly sweet. Poor lovesick, deluded Molly. Tell me, were you thinking of him when we were together? When I was with you, were you imagining it was him inside you instead of me?” She turned a slight shade of red, but if Sherlock had thought she looked irritated before now she looked livid. “Oh, look. You're angry. How cute.”

“I hope you rot in hell,” she said.

“Maybe one day. Not today.” He moved past her to Sherlock, plucking the flash drive from his fingers. “The information, the ace up your sleeve. I could use it of course. It could be quite useful, and it'll ruin so many plans of your brother's. I do _so_ love tweaking his nose.” He moved over to the pool and then dropped the drive in. “Only I like this game so much more. Sorry, Sherlock.”

Sherlock pulled the gun out of his pocket. “That wasn't the ace up my sleeve.”

“How typical. I'm so ashamed of you, Sherlock.” He sighed. “You know there's a red target on your back now, right? I just have to give the signal and your life is ended quick as you like. And then I'll probably kill the two of them out of spite.”

“I'll shoot you before I die, though. They'll be safe.”

“Sacrificing yourself for them? What a surprise. How noble.” Jim moved back to Molly. “Tell you what, Sherlock. Just because you surprised me, I'll spare all three of you. You get to live another day, and we all get to play this great game I have planned. I had thought to only make you the target, but I think Molly here will be a fine addition to my plans.” He tapped her cheek as he walked by. “Consider yourself lucky I'm in a good mood, the both of you.”

Sherlock trained his gun on Jim until he went back through the doors and the red light disappeared from Molly's chest. He moved quickly over to her and pulled off the coat. Then he pulled the bomb off of her and tossed it to the side. “You were quite brave,” he said.

“I had to be,” she said with a small, shaky smile. “If I had any hope of getting out of here alive I had to be.” She paused. “I may pass out from shock later, but we need to check on John.”

“I'm all right,” John said from the side. “I woke up around the time he came out. Just pretended to still be passed out.” He stood up, a bit unsteady on his feet. “You did brilliantly, Molly.”

“I don't ever want to go through that again,” she said, giving John a hug when he got close.

He returned it, shutting his eyes. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” When they pulled apart he looked at Sherlock. “We're in for a headache over all this, aren't we?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said with a nod. Then he turned to Molly. “I'm sorry you've been pulled into this. I mean it.”

“I know you do,” she said with a slight nod. “So what do we do now?”

“I know. We get the hell out of here before he changes his mind,” John said. “Then we go home and sit down and figure out what to do next.”

“An excellent idea,” Sherlock murmured. “Molly, will you be all right?”

She nodded, more vigorously this time. “I'm more worried about John than myself. Let's get going, all right?”

“All right,” Sherlock said. Molly put her arm around John's waist so he could lean on her, and the three of them went out the doors Sherlock had entered through. Whatever Jim's next move was going to be he did not know, but he could hazard some guesses. It was not going to be pleasant for any of them, whatever it was. They were in his sights now, and he would try his best to follow through with whatever grand plan was in his head. Sherlock just hoped they could get through it unscathed.

Once they got out of the pool they got into a cab and all three of them went to Sherlock and John's home. The minute they were inside and settled John poured them all a hefty measure of the whiskey he kept in the kitchen. He brought a glass out to Sherlock and Molly, then took the third glass for himself. He raised his glass silently and they all took a drink. “So now what?” John asked.

Sherlock looked into his glass, swirling the amber liquid around slightly. “There are a few things he can do. He can find another way to attack the three of us together, or he can focus on each of us individually. Or he can wait, wait until we think we're safe.”

“Can we get to him first?” Molly asked before taking another sip of her drink.

“At the moment it's unlikely,” Sherlock said. “He knows much about us and we know little about him. We can do research, but I don't know how long it will take. I don't know if he will make another move before then.” He looked at Molly. “We need to protect you. You are the most vulnerable out of the three of us.”

“How do you propose to do that?” she asked.

“By keeping you close,” he replied, getting up and beginning to pace. He was quiet for a few moments and then he stopped and looked at her. “How attached to your home are you?”

“Are you suggesting I move in here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

He nodded. “John can accompany you to and from work, or I can. If you are here we can watch over you better, keep you safer.”

“Or we can just make ourselves one larger target,” she pointed out.

“Actually, I think there's safety in numbers,” John said. “We'll try our best not to stifle you, Molly. But he's right. You're the one who he could get more easily.”

She was quiet as she sipped more of her drink. “Where am I going to stay while I’m here?” she asked finally.

“The other upstairs bedroom,” Sherlock said. “We will pay for your room and board, John and I, so you can keep your home for when this is all over. We'll try our best to make you feel comfortable here.”

John nodded and gave her a smile. “It won't be so bad.”

“If you say so,” she replied. “So when should I do this?”

“As soon as possible. Do you need to work tomorrow?” he asked. 

“I have the next two days off," she replied.

“Then we'll move you in here tomorrow and the next day.”

“Shouldn't we ask Mrs. Hudson first?” John asked Sherlock.

“I will ask her tomorrow, but I don't foresee her having an objection. I don't want to alarm her, so we will need to come up with a suitable story.”

“My flat is uninhabitable,” Molly said with a slight shrug. “You two offered me a room until I could find another place I liked.”

“That could work,” John said with an approving nod. “It's not so detailed a lie that we forget details, and it makes sense. And it gives her a chance to stay for a while.”

“Then that is what we will claim.” Sherlock looked over at Molly. “Tonight you will stay here. You may sleep in my bed.”

“I have nothing to sleep in,” she said.

“I have a shirt and sleep pants that might fit you,” John said. “They may be a little baggy, but the pants have a drawstring.”

“Where are you going to sleep?” Molly asked Sherlock.

“I can survive a night on the sofa,” he said with a shrug. “John, get her the clothing. I will show you where my room is and get clothing for me to change into, as well as a pillow and blanket. Then we can go and get some rest.”

Molly stood up and moved over to him. She hesitantly placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Sherlock,” she said. “Not just for giving me your bed, but for trying to keep me safe.”

He looked down at her hand. “I do not want your blood on my hands,” he said quietly.

She squeezed his arm slightly. “Well, thank you regardless.” She let go. “So. Where am I going?”

“Follow me.” And with that he led her towards his room. He hoped he was making the right decision here, but in all honesty there weren't many options. He just had to hope he wasn't going to get one or all of them killed in the process of playing Jim's twisted game.


	2. The Detective, The Doctors, The Dominatrix And The Discussions They Have

Life settled into a new routine at 221B Baker Street fairly soon after Molly's arrival. Mrs. Hudson had had no problem with her moving in, and had actually said it would be wonderful to have another woman around to keep the boys in line. She and Molly had hit it off almost instantly, and that was going to make things easier. Molly moved over what little furniture she was able to take, and the belongings that meant the most to her. Sherlock and John did all the heavy lifting, but by noon of the second day she was fully situated in her new home.

Starting the next day, John or Sherlock accompanied her wherever she went. Sherlock could tell she appreciated it but it also irritated her. He knew that having her freedom curtailed would take some getting used to, but he needed to keep her safe. It was his fault she was in this mess in the first place. If Jim had not become fixated on him and used her as a pawn she would not be involved in all of this. If he could keep her safe, or better yet extricate her from the game, he would do it.

He had to admit, living with her meant he got to know her better as a person. Some things were taking some adjustment, as he had never shared such a small space with a woman who wasn't Mrs. Hudson. Molly made use of things that Mrs. Hudson did not, since Mrs. Hudson had her own section of the home. She was in the sitting room watching the telly or in the kitchen cooking and baking when she was not at work. She took up a portion of the bathroom she and John shared, and it was strange to see products clearly meant for women there. She made herself comfortable, and the two of them had to get used to it.

He had thought it would be cramped with three people there, but it really wasn't. If nothing else, he could admit Molly brought an unexpected warmth to the place. It wasn't all that unpleasant for her to be there. She was considerate to both of the original residents, sharing her food with them, not getting in their way, being more of a friend than an unwilling roommate. John seemed happy to be able to have normal conversations with someone else, and he himself appreciated having someone else there to bounce ideas and theories off of. Molly had seemed most eager to help them in any way she could, and both men appreciated it. He was starting to consider her just as much of a friend as John, and that surprised him greatly.

It was nearing Christmas when John decided to throw a party. After the debacle that had been the Irene Adler case, with the unfortunate interference from the Americans and the drugging and the loss of the phone, Sherlock admittedly needed a break. He was not the type to enjoy parties, not really, but John seemed eager and so did Molly, and once Mrs. Hudson was informed she too seemed to want it. He did not want to put a damper on their excitement, and so he kept to himself instead of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

The party was held on Christmas Eve. Molly had spent the day cooking and baking the food they had not ordered in with John's help, and the home had smelled nice. Sherlock had been in his room most of the morning and afternoon, working on a case, but the smells had eventually enticed him to leave. He came out and saw John in a hideous Christmas themed jumper. “Where's Molly?” Sherlock asked, making his way towards the cookies he had smelled earlier.

John went over to him and slapped his hand away. “She's getting ready. She said she wanted to dress up a bit.”

“She looks perfectly fine as she is,” he said with a shrug, reaching for a cookie again.

“Do I need to slap your hand away again?” John asked. “Those are for the party.”

“I don't think anyone will miss one cookie,” Sherlock said with a slight pout.

“You're pouting. You're honest to God pouting,” John said, rolling his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

“If he wants one he can have one,” Molly said from the hallway. Sherlock picked up a cookie and turned to look in that direction. His jaw dropped slightly when he saw her. She was in a form fitting black dress with a festive ribbon in her hair and low heels. He was so used to seeing her in the clothes she wore to work or her pyjamas that this was indeed a surprise. “They're for all of us, John. And if he eats more of them that means less inches on my waistline.”

“You look smashing, Molly,” John said with a grin.

“You think so?” she asked with a shy smile.

“Absolutely. Don't you agree, Sherlock?” he asked, turning to Sherlock.

“Yes. Yes, you do,” he said quietly, forgetting all about the food in his hand. He turned to look at John for a moment and caught the smirk on his face. He scowled at his friend for a moment before turning back to Molly. “You should wear things like that more often. You might get more attention that way.”

She shook her head. “It's impractical for work, and the way the two of you watch me like a hawk no man will get close. I keep getting asked if the two of you are my boyfriends.”

“And what do you tell people?” John asked, the smirk becoming an amused grin.

“That you're my bodyguards,” she said with a widening grin, moving to the plate of cookies and taking one. “It's the absolute truth, but no one believes me.” She was close to him now, close enough that he could smell the perfume she was wearing. It was a light floral scent, and it suited her. He was surprised at the fact that he didn't mind being close to her; generally when they were all at home they gave each other ample space. Not so much that it would appear that they were not friendly, but enough that no one was uncomfortable, or at least enough that he was not uncomfortable. Being this close to her didn't bother him in the slightest. He wondered why. He watched her nibble on the cookie she had picked up. “When are the other guests coming?”

“Any minute now,” John said. “Not that we have all that many, just my girlfriend and Greg.”

“Greg?” Sherlock asked. “Who is Greg?”

Molly chuckled. “Greg Lestrade. You didn't know his name was Greg?”

“I've always called him Lestrade. Or Detective.” Sherlock shrugged. “I never saw the point in learning his first name.”

John shook his head. “Sherlock Holmes, still socially awkward. Even living with two normal people some things never change.”

“Do not mock me,” Sherlock said tersely.

Molly reached over and put a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “He's just teasing, Sherlock. Friends are allowed to do that.”

“If you say so.” Sherlock was going to say more but there was a knock at the door. “I take it those are the guests?”

“I'll go answer the door,” Molly said brightly. She made her way out of the sitting room and towards the front door.

“She looks really stunning, doesn't she?” John said.

“Yes, she does,” Sherlock said.

“If I didn't know better I'd think you were enjoying the view quite a bit,” he replied with an amused grin.

Sherlock glared at him. “So were you, and you're in a relationship.”

“Yeah, but you aren't. Just keep that in mind.” He grabbed a cookie and left Sherlock's side to greet his girlfriend, who came up the stairs with Molly and Lestrade. John's comment gnawed at him slightly. Was John implying he was attracted to Molly? He would admit she looked nice. That didn't cost him anything. But was there attraction there? He needed to think about it more, really examine things.

The party started soon afterward, and with the exception of Sherlock making an inappropriate comment about the dalliances of Lestrade's wife things went smoothly until he heard the distinctive ring tone that Irene had left on his phone. He checked the text message and then went to the mantle, picking up the present. He had no clue when it was left there; probably at some point when John and Molly were out of the room for an extended period of time He was fairly sure he knew what it was, judging by the shape and weight of it. He excused himself and went to his room, opening the present. When he saw it was indeed her phone, he picked up his phone and called Mycroft, telling him he had the phone and to expect Irene's body to turn up soon.

He stayed in his room, musing on things and waiting for his brother to call him if Irene's body was found when he heard a knock on his door. “Come in,” he said.

The door opened and Molly came into his room. She had not come in very often, but then again neither had John. He knew she had come in to check on him multiple times after Irene had drugged him, and there had been her first night there when she slept in his bed. It seemed as though she entered with a sense of trepidation this time. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

He was quiet. John knew more about the Irene Adler case than she did, but since she was here and John wasn't he supposed he could talk to her. He held up Irene's phone. “Do you remember the night I came home drugged?”

She nodded, making her way over to his bed and sitting down. “Yeah. It was a case that had to do with a dominatrix, according to John. The one the Americans were involved in.”

“Yes. The dominatrix was Irene Adler.” Her eyes widened; apparently she knew who Irene was. Good. This would make it easier. “This is her phone. All of the blackmail she had on it is now in my possession. But it was her protection. Her insurance, so to speak. Now that I have it I'm fairly sure she will turn up dead shortly.”

“Why?” Molly asked.

“She has powerful enemies. The Americans were just the start. Without this phone she is vulnerable to all of them. There are many people who want the secrets she holds to disappear. I called Mycroft and told him to look for a Jane Doe that will be found tonight.”

“But you know what her face looks like,” she said with a frown. “Why is he looking for a Jane Doe?”

“Because her enemies will take no chances. They'll destroy her face and hands.”

“God, how awful,” she said with a shudder. “How will you know it's her?”

“I've seen her naked,” he said with a slight shrug.

“How? You aren't one of her clients, are you?”

“What? No,” he said, surprised. “John didn't tell you she was naked when she met me the day she drugged me?”

“He left that part out,” she said with a slightly wry grin. “So you'll know what her body looks like without needing to see her face or run fingerprints.”

“Yes,” he said with a nod.

“If he finds a body like that, have him have it sent to St. Bart's. I'll go take care of it.”

“It's Christmas Eve,” he said. “And your day off to boot.”

“Would you rather wait until the day after tomorrow to get confirmation?” she asked.

“No.”

“I didn't think so. I'll take care of it and do the autopsy tomorrow. Or tonight, depending on how late it comes in.”

“Thank you, Molly,” he said with the utmost sincerity. She really didn't need to do this for him, and he was thankful she was doing it. He leaned over slightly and hesitantly kissed her cheek.

When he pulled away she touched her cheek slightly. “You've never done that before. You usually keep your distance,” she said quietly.

“It seemed appropriate,” he replied. “You're doing me an immense favor by sacrificing your night off.”

She looked at him and was quiet for a few minutes. Finally she spoke. “Sherlock...if I were to kiss you, what would you do?”

“Kiss me?” he asked, slightly confused.

She turned slightly red. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

She stood up and made to leave, but he reached out and grasped her wrist. She stopped, and he slid his hand down so his palm was pressed against hers. He felt just as surprised as she looked by the gesture. “We could find out,” he said quietly. “Run an experiment, so to speak.”

She turned back to look at him, then sat down next to him again. She appeared slightly nervous, but she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. It was a soft kiss, not much more than a simple pressing of their lips together. He had not expected to feel anything at all, but he felt a slight jolt. Perhaps John had been right. Perhaps there had been some attraction there. She started to pull away but he leaned in more and deepened the kiss. She was surprised, he could tell, but she began to kiss him back.

Suddenly his phone began to ring. She flew back, slightly red at the cheeks and breathing hard. He glanced at his phone and the unwelcome intrusion and saw it was Mycroft calling. “It's Mycroft,” he said. She nodded and he answered it. “Yes?”

“We found a body that matches her description with the face bashed in and the fingertips cut off.”

“Send it to St. Bart's. Molly and I will be there shortly.”

“She's coming in tonight?”

“She's doing it as a favor to me.”

“That's surprising. Very well. The body will be there in a half hour.”

“We'lll be there.” He hung up on his brother and looked at Molly. “They may have found her.”

“I'll go change,” she said, standing up.

“We should talk about what just happened,” he said as she moved to the door.

“After this,” she said. “We'll have time after this.” She opened the door and then left, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts. He found his mind was whirring, not with thoughts of Irene's demise but rather with questions as to what was going on between himself and Molly. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he would get answers soon enough. Molly would not keep him in the dark for long, of that he was certain.

–

He stayed at the hospital after he had identified her body. He was not entirely sure, of course, but the body looked enough like Irene's for at least a 90% certain match. He waited in Molly's office as she conducted the autopsy; he still did not plan on leaving her alone, and he could muse on his thoughts in her office just as well as he could at home. Most of his thoughts were revolving around the kiss. He had enjoyed it, and that surprised him greatly. Tonight he had begun to look at Molly in a new light, and he had the feeling that their relationship was going to change because of that kiss. He was not sure how he felt about that quite yet.

He had lost track of the time when her office door opened. “I'm finished,” she said, looking at him as he sat in her office chair. She had changed into a jumper and pants, but the holiday ribbon was still in her hair and her make-up was still on. He looked at her closely, already missing the dress. It was nice to see her look so stunning. He really did think she should dress that way more often.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Nearly midnight,” she replied. “It's almost Christmas Day.”

“You didn't have to do the autopsy tonight,” he said.

“It was either stay here and do it tonight or come in on Christmas, and I didn't want to do that.” she gave him a slight smile. “Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the chest at close range, if you're interested. Someone dug out the bullet, though, so there's nothing to match.”

“It figures,” he said. “Thank you for doing it, Molly.”

“It's fine,” she replied. “I suppose we should go home now.”

“May we talk first?” he asked, standing up.

“About the kiss?” she asked, and he nodded. “All right.”

“What do you expect of me?” he asked.

“Well, first you have to tell me what you want to happen,” she said, moving more in front of him. “Do you want to go out on a date with me? Do you want the kiss to be just that, one solitary kiss?”

“This is all fairly new to me,” he admitted. “Will going out on a date make you happy?”

“It would, but it's not just about me. You have equal say in all this. That's how relationships work,” she said quietly. “Do you want to attempt to date me?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. I think I would like to try.”

“All right,” she said, and he could see a wide smile blossom on her face. “Tomorrow we can go out on a date and see what happens.”

“Tomorrow as in Christmas Day, or the next day?” he asked, glancing at his watch.

“Whichever you prefer,” she said.

He moved closer. “Christmas day is fine,” he said.

“Okay then. We'll go somewhere in the evening, if there's anything open.” She reached over tentatively for his hand. He grasped it, and then on an impulse pulled her closer. “Are you going to kiss me again?” she asked, smile still etched on her face.

“Yes,” he murmured, letting go of her hand and gently touching her face. “Just to see if the sensation is still the same.”

“What sensation was that?” she asked.

“A jolt,” he replied.

“Funny. I felt the same thing.” She placed her hands on his chest. “For the sake of science, let's repeat the experiment.”

He smiled slightly before leaning in and kissing her. Yes, the jolt was still there, he realized as she kissed him back. He had the feeling that this was the start of something important. And as Christmas Eve became Christmas he felt incredibly lucky that he was going to get the chance to find out just what that was.

–

Things went relatively smoothly between he and Molly after Christmas Eve. This was not to say things were perfect; there were hiccups, as was the case in every relationship, or so he had been informed. But she was patient with him, and he was grateful for that. He had thought he would be a horrible boyfriend, but she said he wasn't so bad, not really, and he took that as a sign of encouragement. It had been just over four months since they began to date when things once again took a turn for the unexpected.

He had stayed at the hospital overnight while Molly worked the graveyard shift in the morgue, working on various experiments and trying to figure out the password to Irene's phone. He only had a limited amount of attempts and had already keyed in two possible passwords since he had gotten the phone, with the most recent being that evening, only to find they were not the right ones. He had one attempt left and he was completely stumped. It grated on his nerves. 

He could see Molly was tired and all she wanted to do was go home and get some rest. They got home quickly to find John making coffee. “You look like you both could use a cup,” he said with a grin.

“What I could really use is some uninterrupted sleep, but I'm pretty sure I'll get my days and nights mixed up,” she said with a smile.

“I'm fairly sure if you weren't sleeping alone you'd be more inclined to get some rest,” he replied with a chuckle.

“If you want to get a few hours rest I'll lay down with you,” Sherlock said. They had done that a few times, fallen asleep next to each other in his bed when it got too late while they were talking. It didn't happen often, but he had to admit he enjoyed waking up next to her. He looked forward to those times. Their relationship had not moved past that stage, not yet, but he wasn't pushing. He wasn't sure either of them were ready, not after her encounter with Moriarty. She would not talk about why she shagged him after only three dates, and he did not press her on the matter. When she was ready she would tell him, if she ever was.

“Your bed, then,” she said with a smile. She reached over for his hand. “It's bigger.”

“That's fine,” he replied. He led the way to his room and opened the door. As soon as he laid eyes on the bed, though, he stopped. “Unbelievable,” he murmured.

“Sherlock? What's wrong?” Molly asked.

“Apparently my bed is in use,” he said, letting go of her hand and moving out of the way. He crossed his arms as Molly entered his room.

“I thought she was dead,” she said quietly, leaning in towards him.

“I thought she was, too,” he said darkly. She had fooled him again. He did not like to be made a fool of, especially by the same woman twice.

“Should we wake her up?” Molly asked.

Sherlock sighed. “No, we'll let her sleep. I'll let John know she's here and have him inform me whenever she wakes up and makes her presence known. We can sleep in your room today.”

“If you're sure,” she said with a nod.

“I am.” The two of them left his room and he shut the door behind him. They made their way back out to the sitting room, where John was sitting in his chair with a cup of coffee. “We have an unexpected guest,” he said.

“Who?” John asked.

“Irene Adler.” John didn't look terribly surprised, and Sherlock's eyes narrowed. “You knew she was alive, didn't you?”

“She may have sent Mycroft's assistant to fetch me last week,” he said, not looking at Sherlock.

“And you didn't think to tell me?”

“She sent you a text! I thought you already knew.”

He thought back. Yes, he had received a text from a number he did not recognize, but because it had not had her distinctive ring tone he did not think it was from her and so he had summarily ignored it. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “When she wakes up and comes out here, please let me know.”

“You'll be in Molly's room?” John asked.

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “She needs sleep, as do I.”

“If she wakes up in less than four hours I'll keep her company, let the two of you get some rest,” John said.

“I can stay asleep if you need to wake up,” Molly said to Sherlock. “You don't need me to be awake to find out what her game is.”

“Very well. Give me at least three hours of rest, John, and let's do our best to not wake Molly up.”

“Got it,” John said.

Molly offered Sherlock her hand and this time she led the way to the bedroom. “She's obsessed with you, isn't she?” she asked when John was out of earshot.

“I think so, yes,” he replied. “I wouldn't be surprised.”

“It worries me,” she replied.

He stopped in his tracks, and it was only when she felt a tug on her hand that she stopped. He pulled her back over to him slightly, and reached up to tilt her face up to look at him. “She may be obsessed with me, but the feeling is not mutual,” he said.

“Yes, but people with an obsession do dangerous things,” she said, placing her hands on his chest. “Just look at Jim. We already have whatever threat he's cooking up hanging over our heads, just because he's obsessed with us.”

“I will not let it get out of hand,” he said, shifting his hand slightly so he could caress her cheek.

“That's if you have any say in the matter,” she pointed out. “Don't make a promise you can't keep.”

“I can keep that promise,” he said before leaning in and kissing her. She kissed him back, keeping the kiss light. He had to admit, that was one of the other things he looked forward to, because even after all these months he still felt that jolt when he kissed her. Sometimes he wondered what it might mean if one day it wasn't there, but not very often. He didn't want to imagine a day like that. When they pulled apart he rested his forehead against hers for a moment. “Let's get you to bed,” he said.

“All right,” she replied, moving away from him and heading back up the stairs to her room, leading him there. She opened the door to her room and paused. “You didn't bring anything to sleep in.”

“I can rest in my clothes for now,” he said.

“Turn around while I change?” she asked. He nodded and turned around. He listened as she opened drawers in her dresser and recognized the rustle of clothing being taken off, and he had to admit the urge to turn around and peek was strong, stronger than he had expected. But he dutifully waited while she changed. “I'm dressed,” she said after a few minutes.

He turned to look at her, watching her yawn. “I'll do my best to let you get rest,” he said with a smile as he went to one side of the bed and pulled back the blanket and sheet.

“I'll probably be dead to the world in a half hour or less,” she said with a chuckle. “I really do hate the graveyard shift. I'm glad I only get it twice a month.” She pulled back the blanket and sheet on her side of the bed before crawling in. Sherlock got in on the other side and pulled her close against him. “I don't like that she's here,” she said quietly.

“I will try and keep her stay here brief,” he said, his lips near her ear. “I'll find out what she wants and then try and send her on her way.”

“Good.” He waited for her to say more but she remained silent, and he pressed a kiss in her hair as he heard her breathing slow and even out. Soon enough he joined her in sleep, but not before his mind whirred with thoughts of all the things that could go wrong with both women under the same roof. Before he finally succumbed to sleep he hoped that Irene's presence did not harken the end of his relationship with Molly, because he would never forgive her for that if it did.

–

Molly had slept later than he did, and when she came out into the sitting room she saw Irene there. The two women gave each other assessing looks, and then Molly announced she was going to take a very long walk. John said he would join her, if she didn't mind the company, and she said that was fine. She then came over to Sherlock and kissed him in a way that even he knew was showing Irene that he was hers. Then she went back to her room, changed into regular clothes, and she and John left.

“She is rather possessive of you, isn't she?” Irene said with an amused grin.

“Yes, and I do not have a problem with that,” he said, fixing Irene with a stare. “Since you are going to be here for a time, do not antagonize her.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Irene said in a way that Sherlock guessed meant she was lying through her teeth.

“I mean it, Irene,” he said darkly. “If you antagonize her I will not hesitate to boot you out onto the street.”

“You could always give me back my phone,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

“ _You_ gave it to _me_ , remember?” he said, sitting down in John's chair since she was in his. “You have yet to tell me the password.”

“And I never will,” she said, leaning forward. “You're the great detective. You'll figure it out eventually. How many guesses do you have left?”

“One,” he said sourly.

“Promise to give me my phone back and I'll tell you the password,” she said sweetly.

“What is the point of knowing your password if I no longer have access to all your blackmail?” he asked.

Her face darkened. “Blackmail is such an ugly word.”

“But it's the truth.”

“I suppose it is, but do you have to phrase it that way?” She paused for a moment, then came over to him. She knelt in front of him and put a hand on his. He turned his hand over, touching the inside of her wrist. “What do you see in her?” she murmured. “She's mousy and plain.”

“She is a good woman, far better than you,” he said pointedly.

“Come have dinner with me,” she said, looking up at him. “Forget about her for a night.”

“No,” he said. “I won't have you jeopardize what I have with her.”

“Have the two of you been intimate yet? I know you were asleep in her bed today.” He looked away from Irene. “You haven't? I'm surprised. Most men want it relatively soon in a relationship, usually after the first few dates.” He really did not want to get into a discussion on that topic with her. But Irene would not let it go. “Why are you waiting?”

“I'm waiting until she tells me she's ready,” he said, giving up on this not being the topic of conversation for the moment.

“You may wait a long while. If she hasn't slept with you by now she may never do it.”

“What business is it of yours who I'm intimate with?” he asked, pulling his hand away from hers.

“It's not my business, but if you give me a chance I can show you ways to please her.”

“No. I'm not interested,” he said, standing up. She had not been steady and she toppled over onto her rear because he got up so suddenly. “I am not attracted to you, Irene. I have no interest in you whatsoever.”

“Yes you do. You think I'm a puzzle, an enigma. A mystery. You want to solve me.”

“What I want is for you to stop trying to worm your way into my life,” he said, moving past her.

“She won't make you happy,” Irene said as she stood. “I can please you in ways she can't.”

He moved closer to her, their faces inches apart. “I. Am. Not. Interested,” he said, enunciating each word.

Irene blinked, at a loss for words all of a sudden. She took a step back and looked at him. “What has she got that I don't?” she asked quietly, sinking back into his chair.

“I can't say. I can't really verbalize it,” he said. “But she is special to me.”

Irene looked up at him. “Do you love her?”

“I'm not sure,” he said quietly.

“I think you do,” she said. “I think the reason I hold no appeal for you whatsoever is she has her hand wrapped around your heart. A man in love will ignore all other females and their attempts to form an intimate acquaintance with them.” She was quiet for a moment. “She is a very lucky woman.”

“No. I am a very lucky man,” he said, shaking his head.

“Don't sell yourself short,” she said with a sad smile. Then she stood again. “I think I would like to rest some more. Would it be all right to use your bedroom?”

He nodded. “That's fine.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she moved past him to go to his room. He watched her leave, his mind going over what she said. He hadn't really thought about whether he was in love with Molly. He had never tried to define his feelings for her before, mostly because it was all still quite new for him. But the more he thought about it the more he thought Irene might be right. Perhaps he was in love with Molly. Now the problem was finding out if she felt the same way.

–

He had made a major mistake, and she had fooled him a third time. After Mycroft showed him the plane full of bodies and Irene had made her final play he had stewed in the chair in Mycroft's office. He had thought back to everything, to each encounter with Irene. And then in a blinding flash of insight he realized what her password had been. It had been there the whole time. Molly had said she was obsessed with him, and she had been right. He had typed in S H E R into her phone and was rewarded with the phone unlocking. He was victorious in the end after all.

Still, he was in a foul mood when he arrived home. It was late, nearly midnight. He just wanted to sleep now, only having gotten three hours earlier in the morning. He had not expected anyone to be up, but when he got in the sitting room he saw Molly sitting at the table, nursing a cup of tea. “Still awake?” he asked.

“I have my days and nights mixed up, just like I feared,” she said with a smile. “How did it go?”

“I ruined one of Mycroft's plans but I finally figured out her password,” he said. “You were right. She was obsessed with me. Her password was my name.”

“Figures,” she said. “Even though your brother's plans got ruined I'm sure he was glad you cracked the password.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said with a nod. He stood by her, looking down at her. “Irene texted the code I had deciphered before you woke up to Moriarty. He then sent a text to Mycroft.”

“Was this part of his great game?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I don't know,” he replied. “We've been lax in trying to guess what his next move will be. I'm going to go back to trying to figure that out now that this is finished.” He touched her face gently. “She tried to seduce me.”

“And you rebuffed her,” she said. He was pleased that it was a statement, not a question. It showed she trusted him, that she knew him well.

“I did,” he said with a nod. “But she brought up an interesting point.”

“What was that?”

“She said I rebuffed her because I was already in love with you.”

Molly looked at him intently. “Are you?” she asked quietly, and he could tell she was trying not to get her hopes up.

He nodded slowly. “I'm fairly sure I am.”

She let go of her tea and stood up, moving close to him and putting her arms around his neck. “I know for sure I'm in love with you, so it works out well,” she said with a smile.

“Really?” he asked, a slow grin spreading on his face.

“Yeah, really. I've known it for a while now.” She leaned in and kissed him softly. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“I love you too, Molly Hooper,” he replied, and the moment he said it he knew for sure that yes, he really did love her.

“We should go to bed now,” she said. “And then I can show you just how much I love you.” She leaned in and kissed him again before pulling away and grabbing his hand. He had not expected his evening to take this turn, nor had he expected to make that particular admission to her tonight. But this was a good next step. Irene had tried to steal him away and failed miserably, and he could be content in his knowledge that Molly was his, completely and wholly, and that he was hers. No matter what happened next, he would have that knowledge, and that was a good thing.


	3. Something Unplanned, Something Unsettling, Something Eventful, Something To Ponder

“Why on earth did I agree to quit smoking?” Sherlock groused two months later, pacing around the room in his pyjamas and dressing gown.

“Because I asked you to,” Molly said exasperatedly. He knew she had been watching him pace, and he was fairly sure she was regretting ever getting him to agree to what she wanted. Lately she had been easily irritated and he had found himself wondering what had changed. She put her head in her hands. “I'm about to hurt you if you don't stop pacing.”

“Why are you so easily irritated lately?” he asked, stopping in front of her.

“I don't know!” she snapped, lifting her head up and glaring at him. Then she sighed and her glare softened. “Sorry. Everything's just getting on my nerves lately. Stress, I suppose.”

“It could be,” he said with a nod. They had all made no further progress on what Moriarty had planned for them, and while he knew Molly was comfortable in his home, that she liked being there, he knew she would very much like her freedom back. But he knew the minute that happened Moriarty would make his move. That was the only thing he could anticipate with any degree of certainty. He sat down on the sofa next to her. “John says the cravings will ebb soon. If I could just get a case that would help.”

“Greg doesn't have anything?”

“He's on vacation,” Sherlock said with a shake of his head. “I would ask his subordinate but Sally Donovan hates me. She wouldn't willingly help.”

“John will be back soon. You can ask him to check his blog.” She stood up, her face slightly green. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

“The stomach flu still?” he asked. The last few days she would get hit with a wave of nausea at random moments, but she brushed it off as a stomach bug. He was getting concerned, though. It had been four days, and he had thought it would be out of her system by now. He watched her nod, then place a hand over her mouth and bolt to the nearest washroom. He stayed on the sofa. She did not like it if he tried to go into the bathroom while she was retching, even if it was just to make sure she was okay. When she came back out he would ask.

The door opened and he heard John come up. “John, please tell me we have a case,” he called over, flopping onto the couch.

“No, no case,” he said as he came into the sitting room. “Where's Molly?”

“Washroom,” he said.

“Again? How many times has she vomited the last few days?”

“I've lost count. At least twice a day, if not more,” he said. “It must be a supremely bad stomach flu.”

John was quiet for a moment. “Or she could be pregnant,” he said.

Sherlock looked at him sharply. “Pregnant?”

“Even if you were careful it could happen,” he said. “Accidental and all, but it would explain the nausea and the mood swings, the way she's been irritated so often lately.”

“It's too soon,” he said, panicking slightly. “We haven't been together long.”

“Well, the first thing to do is find out. If she is, make plans. If she isn't, make sure it doesn't happen until you're ready.”

“If we're ever ready,” he said quietly.

“Have you even discussed anything like that?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“No, not yet,” he said. “I hadn't even considered it might be in the realm of possibilities so soon. I do know she wants children, though. She has said that.”

“Who said what?” Molly asked as she emerged from the general direction of the washroom, a washcloth to her mouth. John and Sherlock looked at each other. It seemed as though they were having a silent conversation with glances and head movements, and then Molly started looking irritated. She crossed her arms. “Spit it out, Sherlock,” she said with a glare.

Finally Sherlock sighed. “John suspects you might be pregnant.”

She was quiet. “I could be. We didn't take precautions the first time.”

“Do you want to be?” Sherlock asked. “What I mean is, is this too soon for you, if you are?”

“It would be a bit of a shock, but if I am it's fine,” she said. “I mean, things will change and we'll need to talk, but if I actually am pregnant I suppose there are worse things than carrying your child.”

“Such as?” John asked.

“Carrying yours,” she said with a slight grin.

John smiled widely and shook his head. “That was a low blow, Molly.”

“It was said with love,” she replied, moving over to him and giving him a hug. “I'll go pop over to the hospital and find out. My friend in the OB/GYN department can find out all the specifics if I am with blood work and urine.”

“You are taking it really well,” John said.

“Probably because I did all my panicking about it yesterday,” she said with a shrug. “Everyone else who had the stomach flu had it one day, two at most. When I was still vomiting all the time yesterday I had the sinking suspicion it might be because I was pregnant. I just didn't know how to bring it up.” She looked over at Sherlock. “How would you feel if I was?”

“I'm not quite sure,” he admitted. “I still feel it's too soon, but I would not ask you to get rid of the pregnancy or anything like that. I'd remain with you and we would take care of the child together.”

“At least you're honest,” Molly said. “I was terrified yesterday that you'd abandon me.”

Sherlock stood up and went over to her, framing her face in his hands. “I wouldn't abandon you over this.”

“Good.” She put her hands over his for a moment, then pulled them away from her face. Then she leaned in and kissed him softly. “I'm going to change and then head to the hospital. Do you want to come with me?”

He nodded. “I would.” Just then the doorbell rang. He looked at John. “Heavy press.”

“Lasted for about thirty seconds,” John said. “Client?”

“Client,” Sherlock said with a nod. Then he turned back to Molly. “Can we go later?”

“I can just call you once I know,” she said with a smile. “Go see if it's a client so I don't kill you in your sleep because you're driving me bonkers.”

He grinned back and kissed her again. He could hear John give him an exasperated sign. “I guess I'll go see if we have a client,” he said in a slight huff, getting up. Sherlock ignored him until Molly pulled away. Molly gave him one last smile and then headed towards Sherlock's bedroom, which they were now sharing. Sherlock still had a faint smile on his lips when he heard two pairs of feet coming up the steps. He dropped the smile when they came into the sitting room. “Sherlock, this is Henry Knight,” he said.

“I'm glad you're here, Mr. Holmes,” Henry said, coming over and extending his hand. “I hope you can help me.”

The overwhelming aroma of smoked cigarettes emanating off Henry hit off a sudden craving in Sherlock, and he tried to clamp it down. “I will see how much assistance I can offer,” he said as he shook Henry's hand. “What type of case do you have?”

“My father was killed by a hound in the moors years ago,” he said. “I went back to Dartmoor last week and last night I went back to where he died. I swear I saw it. No one believes me, though. I want to find out once and for all what killed my father and how it got there.” He reached into a pocket and held up a DVD. “I think it has something to do with Baskerville.”

“The military base run by the government?” John asked, surprised. “What would they know about a hound?”

“It's a testing facility,” Sherlock murmured, leaning in to pluck the DVD from Henry's fingers. He took a strong sniff of him as he did. “Would you like to have a smoke?”

“Sherlock, that probably isn't a good idea,” John said. “Just because you can't have one doesn't mean you should tempt yourself with one. And then there's Molly.”

Sherlock waved his hand. “If you won't let me have a cigarette at least let me inhale cigarette smoke,” he said.

“Molly will skin you alive. Especially if she really is...you know.”

“It will calm Mr. Knight here down. You aren't altogether calm right now, are you?” Sherlock asked.

“Not really, no,” he said.

“See? It will put him at ease.” He led Henry to a chair and nearly pushed him down into it. “Go ahead and smoke.”

Henry glanced over at John for a moment, who shrugged, and then gave an uneasy glance to Sherlock. “If you say so.” He pulled out a pack and a lighter, and then lit one of the cigarettes, inhaling deeply. As he exhaled Sherlock squatted down next to him, inhaling the smoke through his nose. Henry gave him a strange look but took another puff off his cigarette, then a third.

Sherlock could dimly hear the bedroom door fling open and then the washroom door slam shut. He turned his attention away from Henry. Surely Molly could not have smelled that little bit of cigarette smoke, could she? He looked at Henry with a sigh, then went for one of his old ashtrays. “Put it out,” he said quietly.

“I thought it was okay to smoke,” he said, dutifully putting the cigarette out.

“Oh, you're not going to hear the end of this,” John said with a smirk. “As soon as she gets out you should prepare yourself for some well deserved vitriol.”

“It won't be that bad, will it?” Sherlock asked uncertainly.

“Yes, Sherlock, it _will_ be that bad.” Sherlock actually got nervous at those words. “Whatever good mood she left in will be gone now that she's gone to the washroom and had dry heaves.”

“Damn,” he muttered. He turned to the hallway and within a few minutes Molly stalked out, still wearing the bottom half of her pajamas, and she was absolutely livid. “Molly--” he began, but she held up a hand and he remained quiet.

“You promised me you would quit, Sherlock,” she said, advancing on him. “You promised me because I told you every medical reason why it was a bad idea to smoke. I showed you statistics and pictures and I even made you watch an autopsy of a chronic smoker who died of lung cancer. You said you'd stop. But _no_. You couldn't even wait until I'd left the home before you snuck one.”

“Uh...” Henry said as she got closer to Sherlock.

“Molly,” Sherlock said, but she glared so he stopped.

“The smell of cigarettes sets off my nausea. I probably bloody well have morning sickness. The last few days have been exceedingly unpleasant. And you don't care enough to not have a smoke. So if you want to smoke, smoke. I don't bloody well care. But fully expect to be sleeping alone for a very long time, and if I am pregnant? This will be your only child because you're never touching me again.”

“Um, Molly?” John interjected.

“What?” she snapped, turning to John.

John point to Henry, who held up the ashtray he'd been holding. Molly looked at it. “Our client was the one smoking. He appeared to need a cigarette to calm his nerves.”

“So it wasn't you?” Molly asked as she turned to Sherlock, confused.

“That's what I was trying to tell you,” he said.

“ _Oh_ ,” she said, and then she got a sheepish look on her face. “I'm so sorry. I just...you were craving one...and then I smelled it and I had dry heaves and...I'm sorry.”

“Forgiven,” he said, reaching over to tip her face up to look at him. “I'm starting to think the likelihood that you are indeed pregnant is very high.”

“I really have been having mood swings, haven't I?” she asked with a frown.

“Yes, you have. But I will love you regardless,” he said, and watched as she smiled. “I'll air out the flat before you get home if you will allow Mr. Knight to finish his cigarette.”

“Oh, sure. I just need to finish changing and then when I go he can smoke, all right?” Then she moved away from Sherlock and turned to Henry. “I'm so sorry you had to see that. Generally I'm very nice. I'm Molly, by the way.” With that, she offered her hand to him.

He switched the hand holding the ashtray and shook it. “Henry Knight,” he said.

“Pleasure to meet you.” She gave him a wide smile. “Give me ten minutes and I'll be out of here.”

“John, go with her,” Sherlock said. John raised an eyebrow slightly, and Sherlock came over to him. “If she is indeed pregnant that makes her a bigger target than before,” he said, his voice just slightly above a whisper. “If Moriarty has eyes and ears anywhere for her it would be at the hospital. If a pregnancy is confirmed we should assume he'll know almost immediately.”

“All right,” John said with a nod. “I'll go with her. Can you handle the client all on your own?”

“I can manage,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Keep her safe. Please,” he added in a slightly pleading voice. “I do not want anything to happen to her, especially now.”

“I'll keep her safe.”

“Is your wife really pregnant?” Henry asked.

“She's not my wife. She's my girlfriend. And we're fairly certain she is. Why?”

“I just feel so sorry for you right now,” he replied. “I think her pregnancy is going to be hell for you.”

Sherlock shrugged slightly. “It's only a temporary problem. And I will do my best to appease her moods. When she's had the child she will go back to her normal state and then we'll be back to how we had been.”

“Well, best of luck to you.” He watched as Sherlock went to the DVD player and then he looked over at John. “Is there any chance I could get a cuppa?” he asked.

John nodded. “I can make a pot up for you and Sherlock before I go,” he replied. John busied himself with the tea, and when Molly came back out, fully dressed this time, she went to the cupboards and pulled out a package of chocolate biscuits and some saltines. She put the biscuits on a plate and set them on the tea tray and then started nibbling on the saltines. When John was finished he set the tea pot on the tray along with two cups, and then he brought it out to the table. “Sherlock?” he said, looking at his friend.

“What?” he asked, not looking away from the screen.

“The tea is ready, and Molly and I are about to leave. Just thought you should know.”

“Very well,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“Do you want me to call you when I know for sure?” Molly asked, coming over to him.

“You may call or text, whichever is easier.”

Molly shook her head, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I'll call, only because I'll want to start making plans.”

“Very well. John, take care of her.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “I might be pregnant, Sherlock. I'm not suddenly an invalid.”

He paused the DVD and looked at her. “When Moriarty finds out, and he will, you will be in even more danger,” he said quietly, low enough for only her to hear him clearly. “I don't want to lose you or the child if you are indeed pregnant.”

“I understand,” she said before leaning in again and kissing him on the lips. She kept the kiss soft and pulled away much too soon for his taste. She smiled at him. “If it makes you feel better, I hope I am. I think you would be a good father. You'd make sure our child was safe.”

A sense of pride hit him at her words, She thought him worthy of raising a child with her. That meant more to him than she realized. “I love you, Molly.”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she said as her grin widened. “I promise, we'll be careful.” Then she left him and headed out of the flat, John right behind her.

He went back to the DVD, watching right up to Henry's part. Then he paused it again and rejoined Henry, who had poured himself a cup of tea. He made his own cup of tea and sat down in front of him. “I didn't hear you watch my interview,” he said.

“I prefer to do my own interviews,” he said. “You used the word hound when you described the beast that killed your father. Why?”

“I'm not sure. It was a big beast, I know that much. My dad was under him as I ran away. And then there was no trace of him or the hound. No one would believe me.”

“Interesting,” Sherlock said before taking a sip of his tea. “What did you see last night?”

“I went back to where he had died, and there I saw the hound. It was like it was waiting for fresh prey. It had red glowing eyes and looked as though it would attack me if I so much as breathed. I turned and ran, afraid it would come after me. I ran for my life and I escaped.”

“Do you live in Dartmoor now?” Henry nodded. “How close to the moors?”

“Fairly close.”

“Then tomorrow John and I will visit you there. There are other places we'll need access to, but I want to see the specific place he was killed at some point. Are you willing to go back there?”

“I suppose,” he said as he nodded again.

“Then we will meet you at your home in the afternoon, and we'll go to the moors together. For now, finish your cigarette and then go home.”

“That's it? That's all there is?” Henry asked, surprised.

“I will learn more once I'm there.” He stood up and then went to the desk, picking up a notepad and a pen. Then he brought them both over to Henry. “Write down your address for me.”

Henry took the items offered and wrote down his address. “Any idea when I should expect you?”

“Mid afternoon. I want to explore the area a bit first before we meet with you. Get the lay of the land, so to speak.”

“Who will be coming?” he asked, handing the pad and the pen back to Sherlock.

“John and I, most likely. For part of my plan there may be an unexpected visit from my brother. We shall see.”

“Well, thank you for your help,” he said. “Do you want me to finish my cigarette here?”

He thought for a moment. As much as he would love to inhale the smoke, Molly had voiced her obvious displeasure and he wasn't sure he could air out the room well enough. Finally he shook his head. “No. It would be best if you have it once you leave.”

“I can leave one with you,” he suggested.

Sherlock gave him a faint smile. “Molly would kill me then. No, take the cigarettes with you when you leave and enjoy them on your return trip. As I said, we will be there tomorrow.” Then he paused. “May I keep the DVD? I'll bring it with me tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure,” Henry said with a nod. “See you tomorrow, then.” He took another sip of his tea, then got up and left. Sherlock waited for the front door to close, and then he went back to the DVD. He pressed play and watched Henry's interview, and then the rest of it. The more he watched, the more he greatly wanted to get into Baskerville. It seemed as though something there would be the key to it all.

When he was done with the DVD he went back to the tea. He found he was slightly nervous. He debated leaving the home and going to St. Bart's. At the moment he was really regretting not going with Molly. When he was on his third cup of tea his phone rang and he saw it was Molly. He answered it quickly. “Well?”

“I'm two months pregnant,” she said. “So the first time we were together is when I got pregnant.”

He felt joy at the news. He had never thought about having a child before, having a legacy and passing on the Holmes name to another generation, even after he started dating Molly. Of course, he had never expected to be in a relationship or fall in love with someone, either, so there was that. Now, though, he realized that this could only be a good thing. “I'm glad.”

“Are you really?” she asked with uncertainty. “I mean, it's all so sudden and we haven't been together long, just since Christmas. You'll be stuck with me for the rest of your life, even if we don't stay together. We'll always be connected.”

“I assure you that I'm quite happy with the news,” he said. “Do you want to come back home and talk before I have to leave?”

“Leave? Where are you going?”

“Dartmoor, for the case with Mr. Knight.”

“Are you sure it's safe to leave me here by myself?” she asked.

He frowned. He had not considered that. If John went with him it would just be her and Mrs. Hudson at the flat, and anyone Moriarty might send to hurt her could easily overpower both of them. “Do you think you can come with me?”

“I can pull some strings, see if I can get some time off. How long do you think you will be on the case?”

“I'm not sure. Three days, maybe four? Can you get that many days off?”

“I'll see what I can do. I have a few associates who would love the extra shifts. I'll ask them before I come home.” She paused. “I'm happy, you know. With all of this. I don't know if you really wanted kids, but I did. I mean, I do. And I'm happy it's yours.”

“I hadn't thought about it before, but what you said earlier makes me think I would not be a bad father.”

“What was that?”

“That I would keep the child safe. I will also do my best to make the two of you happy.”

“That's all I can ask for. See you soon, okay?”

“Very well. I'll be here.” He hung up then and found himself with a wide grin on his face. It was a shock, it was, but this had probably made him the happiest he had ever been. He would not fail her in being the best father he could be. He owed the both of them that much. And with that he made his way to Mrs. Hudson's part of the house. He knew many were going to be surprised, but it was a very good thing, and he intended to share the good news with those closest to him as soon as possible.

–

By the next evening he was convinced that the entire case was going to be a headache. Yes, he had managed to get into Baskerville using his brother's stolen ID, and gotten out before any red flags were raised, so that was a plus. And he had connected one of the cases John had mentioned from the blog with one of the scientists at Baskerville, so now he had an inkling of what was really going on there, but that had all been before the visit to Dewer's Hollow, the area where Henry's father had been killed. That was before he saw the hound. Very few things scared him, but everywhere he had turned around when he was there he had seen Moriarty's face. Logically he knew the man wasn't there, but the bone deep fear he had had overridden the use of his brain while he was there. There was now so much more he could lose now, so much that Moriarty could rip from his grasp. It had been like being in a waking nightmare, and then seeing the hound had been too much. And then it had all been gone.

They had gone back to the inn at that point, and Sherlock had sat in front of the fire, staring at it. Molly was in their room, doing whatever it was she had planned on doing during their stay. John had left him in peace to think, going to get food. He had not seen it. He had not heard the growl or seen the glowing red eyes, seen Moriarty's face dancing around like a horrible spectre. Now that he was away from the moor he could think clearly again. There had to be a connection somehow. He just had to find it.

John came up to him, carrying a bowl of stew. “Eat this,” he said, handing it to Sherlock.

“I don't have an appetite,” he said, pushing the bowl away.

John moved it back towards him. “You haven't eaten all day. Eat.”

“No.”

“Doctor's orders. And I'll get Molly to agree with me.”

Sherlock paused in his retort, then closed his mouth and took the bowl. But he did not eat. “Have you ever been so scared you thought you'd lost your mind?”

“Once or twice, yeah,” John said with a nod. “Why? Are you okay?”

No, he was not okay. He had been scared out of his wits, and he still felt the edge of that fear, threatening to close in on him. “I'm fine. I just have much to think about.” He stood up, leaving the bowl on the table. “I think I'll head to my room now.” Then he glanced over and saw Henry's psychiatrist come into the room. “Why don't you try and find out more about Henry from Dr. Mortimer?” he asked. “I will take the stew and go to bed.”

“All right,” John said with a bit of uncertainty. “I'll see what I can find out.” He left Sherlock then, and Sherlock watched him go over to the woman. He hoped he could get answers, because they needed all the ones they could get.

He turned back to the fire for a moment, then picked up the bowl of stew and went to his room. He had no clue if Molly was still awake at this point, but he hoped she was. He needed to talk to someone, and right now John would not suffice. He opened the door to his room and found he was in luck; Molly was in bed, reading a book. She turned when she heard the door open and gave him a smile, one that dimmed considerably when she got a better look at him. “Sherlock? What happened?” She set the book on the nightstand. “How bad was it?”

He took the stew over to her. “For you.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the bowl, which she then she set on the nightstand next to her book. “I'll eat it later. Tell me what happened.”

“I saw the hound my client had talked about,” he said quietly, sitting on the bed next to her. “And I saw him.”

“Which him? Moriarty?” she asked. He nodded, and her eyes got wide. “He can't be here. He can't...he _can't_ ,” she said, panic in her voice.

“No, I think he was a hallucination,” he said soothingly, sorry he had said anything. “I think it's all a hallucination. I don't think there's really a hound there.”

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“I didn't mean to send you into a panic,” he said. “I just...I was scared, Molly. More scared than I've been in a very long time.”

“I can see how that would scare you,” she said, moving one of her hands over his and grasping it tightly. “He scares me too. More so now.”

“He can take it all away. Snuff out your life, our child's...he can take it all away and there isn't any way I can stop him. I don't know what his plans are. I can't fathom his next move. I can only guess it will be directed at you, and even then I am not sure.”

“You'll stop him. I have faith in you.” She let go of his hand and pulled him into an embrace. He shifted his position and held her close. This was more comforting than words and concern from John. He felt the fear begin to seep out of his bones, replaced with a comfort he knew only she could give. When they pulled apart he let his hand drift down to her abdomen. She chuckled slightly. “It will be a long while until she kicks.”

“She?” he asked, looking down at her abdomen.

“I'm hoping it's a girl. I mean, I'll be happy with a boy as well, but I've always wanted a little girl.” She placed her hand over his again. “What do you want, Sherlock?”

“I want a healthy child,” he said. “The sex of our child doesn't matter to me.” Then he paused. “But if we had a son he could carry on my name.”

“Sherlock Holmes the second,” she said with a smile. “I think he could be proud of that name, if we had a son.”

“And if we have a girl? What do you want to name her?” he asked as he looked at her.

“Alexandria Lynnette Holmes. I've always loved those two names.”

“I like it as well,” he said with a smile, beginning to trace patterns on her stomach. “I had never expected any of this to happen. The situation with Moriarty, the relationship I have with you, this child...some of it I'm not happy about, but you and the child I'm happy for. I just hope I am here with you for some time yet.”

“He won't kill you,” she said firmly, framing his face in her hands. “And you won't let him kill us. We will live a long life together. You made a promise to keep me safe. Now I'm making a promise to you that I will make sure we have a long and happy life together.”

“I'm going to hold you to that promise,” he said.

“Good. I definitely plan on keeping it.” She gave him a grin. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head.

“Then you should eat the stew. I'm not all that hungry right now.” She picked up the bowl and handed it to him.

“Still not keeping food down?” he asked as he picked up the spoon and took out some of the stew.

“Some food. More than before, thanks to the prenatal vitamins.” She watched him eat the stew. “I'm going to end up taking better care of you than myself, I think. I worry about you.”

“Just make sure you take care of yourself,” he said after he swallowed. “I do not wish to see anything happen to you.”

“I will,” she said with a nod. “But I'll take care of you, too.”

“For how long?”

“Until you don't want me around anymore, or until one of us dies,” she said with a slight shrug. “Whatever happens first.”

“Is that a hint you want to get married?” he asked, pausing before he took a bite.

“One day, yeah. I would like to marry you. But not now. It's just too soon.” She settled back into the pillows. “Do you want to marry me?”

“Yes,” he said. “But your'e right. Right now it's too soon.”

“We don't have to get married before I have this baby, you know,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, it's something I had always thought would happen before I had a child, but doing it out of the normal order is okay too.”

“Will your mother approve?” he asked before he took another bite of the stew.

“My mother was ecstatic when I told her she was going to be a grandmother yesterday,” she said with a smile. “I'm fairly sure she'll ask about marriage later, but I think as long as I give her a healthy grandchild she will let me live my life however I want.” Then she tilted her head slightly. “What about you? How did your family take it?”

“My mother was also quite happy. She had given up hope of having grandchildren before I started dating you. Mycroft was...I'm not really quite sure how Mycroft feels. I don't think he's loathing the idea completely.”

“Well, he's the only uncle our child is going to have. He better get used to the idea very quickly.”

Sherlock grinned slightly. “I'm fairly sure that whatever we need he'll get for us, whether it's a recommendation to a good school or money for his future or any other need that might arise. I just don't know if he'll be happy about it. He'll see it as a duty.”

“You really do want a son, don't you?” she said with a chuckle.

“I suppose I do,” he mused after a moment.

“Maybe we'll luck out and I'm carrying twins, a boy and a girl.”

“That would be nice. But we could always try for a girl later if you are indeed carrying a boy.”

“Let's get through this pregnancy first. For all I know I'll hate pregnancy and I'll never want to go through it again.” She smiled at him. “You had best be in the delivery room, though. I'm not going to have this child alone.”

“I'll be there,” he said, setting the bowl of stew on his nightstand. He moved closer to her. “I will not have you go through it alone.”

“Something can happen, though,” she said as her smile faltered. “But we'll plan on you being there.”

He moved as close to her as he could get and leaned over, kissing her softly. She set her hands on either side of his face as she kissed him back, then slid them down to his shoulders and pulled him closer. He maneuvered himself so he was on top of her more, and she deepened the kiss. There was something in this kiss that was not in most of their kisses, he realized as he began to hitch the top of her camisole up. She was scared, too. And right now he wasn't sure what he could do to allay her fears, other than hold onto her promise as much as he could. Right now all he could do was lose himself in her and hope that things got better for them as opposed to worse.

–

Sherlock had made plans for the next morning, plans that involved questioning various people in Dartmoor and trying to get back into Baskerville. The ID ploy would not work again, because he had barely managed to get out without trouble the first time. He had gotten ready early in the morning, and met John outside his room. They had made their way to the dining area, but instead of the inn's owners they got a surprise. Standing there looking around was Greg Lestrade. He caught sight of the two of them and came over. “Fancy seeing you two here,” he said with a grin.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock said with an inclination of his head.

“So.” Lestrade looked at the two men and Sherlock sighed. Of _course_ his brother would send someone to check on him after Baskerville. It wasn't that he didn't like Lestrade; he found him to be a decent man and a competent detective inspector, but this was just one more person in the mix and he rather resented it. If Mycroft wanted to know what he was up to he could damn well find out by himself. “I was in the area and--”

Sherlock held up a hand. “No need to lie. My brother sent you to check on what I was doing.”

Lestrade looked almost relieved. “Your brother was rather pushy that I come out here before returning to work.”

“It figures,” Sherlock said sourly. “Just because I used his ID to get into a highly secretive military installation doesn't mean I need a keeper.”

“Maybe that's exactly what you need,” John said, a slightly amused grin on his face.

He glared at John. “Don't start.” Then he turned to Lestrade. “You might as well stay. There's people here who need questioning so I can exclude a few theories. Throwing around your weight might help.”

Lestrade glared. “I am not heavy.”

“Your weight as a detective inspector,” Sherlock said slowly.

“ _Oh,_ ” Lestrade said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Where were you at, anyway?” John asked. “You're quite tan.”

Lestrade grinned. “The States. I was in Florida for a convention and I took a few days to myself. It was quite nice to be away from here, being able to spend some time on a beach.”

“You may have overdone it,” Sherlock said. “You're brown as a nut.”

“At least I'm not red as a tomato,” Lestrade pointed out.

Sherlock thought about it a moment. “Touché.”

“Sherlock, didn't Molly say she'd like breakfast?” John said.

“Right,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“Molly's here?” Lestrade asked, a surprised look on his face.

Sherlock and John shared a glance. With everything going on with the game Moriarty had them in they hadn't shared the information with anyone. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to share it with Lestrade; Sherlock had thought about doing that many times, but in the end the need to protect John and Molly had won out. John shook his head, and Sherlock bit back a sigh, turning towards Lestrade. “She wanted a break from London. I thought this was a good opportunity.”

“She must be bored out of her mind,” Lestrade said. “I know I would be.”

“She's keeping herself entertained,” Sherlock said with a slight shrug. Then he paused. He just realized with Lestrade being out of town he probably didn't know the news unless Molly had texted or called him. “Have you spoken with Molly in the last few days?”

Lestrade shook his head. “No, I haven't. Been kind of ignoring my phone, at least until your brother began calling me every twenty minutes. Why?”

“She's pregnant.”

Lestrade's eyes grew wide. “Get out of here. Really?”

“Yes, really,” Sherlock said, getting just a tad annoyed.

“How far along is she?”

“Two months,” Sherlock said.

“I suppose congratulations are in order?” Lestrade asked, a little cautiously.

“Yes, they are,” Sherlock replied.

“Then congratulations, Sherlock,” Lestrade said with a wide grin. He extended his hand and Sherlock shook it. “I should buy you a drink.”

“Perhaps after all of this is over,” Sherlock replied.

“All right then.” Lestrade pulled his hand away. “So I guess if I'm not checking up on you I can at least help. Like you said, throw my weight around. What do you need me to do?”

“John said he had made an interesting observation,” Sherlock said. “Why don't the two of you discuss that while I get Molly something to eat?”

Lestrade nodded. “Shall we, John?”

“Sure,” John said. “Let's get out of earshot of the owners since it concerns them.” The two of them walked away and Sherlock went outside to see what else there was for places to get breakfast. Her appetite had come back full force that morning, and he figured the saltines she had been nibbling on the last few days would not suffice. He saw a bakery that was open and went inside. He had lived with her long enough to know what she ate for breakfast, and he found they had some of her favorite foods there. He ordered a few items and then when it was all packaged up he took it back to the inn. John and Lestrade were still talking quietly in the corner when he came back in so he went back to his room. He knocked on the door and waited. It was easier than digging out the key.

Molly opened it up a few minutes later. “Oh, that smells wonderful,” she said, looking at the bag.

“Freshly baked,” he said, handing it to her.

“I didn't even realize I could get this hungry,” she said as she took the bag from him. She went back to the bed and sat on it, pulling her legs under her. She opened it up and smiled. “Croissants and scones.”

“I hope you like the scones. I forgot what flavor you liked.”

“These look like they're currant. I like those.” She pulled out a croissant and pulled part of it off, popping it in her mouth. She shut her eyes as she chewed with a smile on her face and he found himself entranced, smiling slightly himself. When she found something she enjoyed she enjoyed it fully, and it was always a pleasure to see. She opened her eyes and reached into the bag, pulling out the second croissant and offering it to him. “You should eat, too.”

“I will. Later. I have things to attend to.” He paused. “Lestrade is here.”

“Why would he be here?” she asked, confused.

“My brother sent him. Apparently he thinks I need a keeper.”

“Then I must not be doing a good enough job,” she said with a chuckle.

“You are my girlfriend, not my keeper,” he said with a frown.

She put the croissants back in the bag and got off the bed, coming over and kissing his cheek. “I know. I was teasing. I can do that.”

“I suppose.” She moved closer and he put his hands on her waist. “You know, you can actually give me a real kiss.”

“I just did. It was still a real kiss even though it wasn't on the lips.”

“Well, I would like a different one,” he said.

She put her arms around his neck. “See, you just have to ask. I'm always happy to oblige on that front.” She got closer and kissed him softly. They stayed like that for a moment before he deepened it. He could always get lost in a kiss with her. He hoped that never changed. She kept him close and only pulled away when the two of them needed to breathe. He rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes. “How soon do you need to be back with the two of them?” she asked.

“They can be without me for a bit,” he said. “Why?”

“Because I'd like to take you back to bed.”

“I just woke up an hour ago.”

“But I wasn't awake then, not until you were ready to leave.”

“Aren't you hungry?”

“I am, but not for food.” She pulled away and looked at him. “Do you _not_ want to shag?”

He thought for a moment, then pulled her back to him. “I suppose they can do without me for a little while,” he murmured.

“Exactly what I wanted to hear,” she said before kissing him again. He let her pull him over to the bed at that point, and she only pulled away to deposit the food on the nightstand. He let her take the lead and savored the experience, because this was something he found he enjoyed as much as a challenging case. Before Molly he had not thought much about it, but since Molly he found that it was something he quite enjoyed. If she was in the mood he would oblige her. It was the least he could do.

He took his time but when they were finished he knew he needed to go out to the others. She looked as though she was going to go back to sleep so he gave her one last kiss and went to go take a quick shower before getting dressed again. Then he made his way back to the dining area. John and Lestrade were enjoying breakfast. Both men looked at him with a raised eyebrow but he ignored the looks. “Someone took their time,” John said with an amused grin after he got closer.

“I was otherwise occupied,” he said tersely.

“Oh, I bet you were,” Lestrade murmured before hiding his smile by taking a bite of his food.

Sherlock resisted the urge to glare. “Have you discussed John's observations?”

“That took five minutes. We've been waiting for you since then,” John replied with a smirk. “As soon as we're done eating we can question them.”

“Food sounds good,” Sherlock said.

“Didn't Molly share with you?” Lestrade asked with an almost innocent air. “I assumed you were sharing breakfast with her, with as long as it took.”

This time Sherlock did not resist the urge. “I know you both know what happened. Stop acting so coy about it.”

“For a man who just got a morning shag you're in a really bad mood,” John pointed out. “Isn't that _not_ supposed to be the case?”

“I _was_ in a good mood. Now I'm not,” Sherlock said tersely. “I'm going to get breakfast now before I get the urge to hit one of you.” And with that he turned and went to get breakfast. He no longer held any hope that this day was going to go well, and it was all their fault. He didn't mind being teased sometimes but not about that and certainly not now. He just hoped the day got better and not worse.

–

The day had certainly not gotten better. Yes, they had solved the case, but not before Henry nearly killed his therapist and the four of them had gotten a scare. Sherlock had known it was all hallucinations, and that was why he had been able to fight the panic and get Henry to see reason before he did something he would regret. Dr. Franklin had deserved to pay for his crimes, but he had run, and the chance for justice was not going to be Henry's.

The sound of the land mine exploding had shaken Sherlock almost as much as the sights the night before had, but when he had glanced at John and Lestrade he had seen it had barely fazed them. That was the difference between them, he had realized; while a violent death like that was still shocking to him, even though he had seen the aftermath of it many times, his friends had seen so much violence that it no longer shocked them. That observation was rattling around in his head when he got back to the inn after depositing Henry at his home and informing the constable of what had happened in Dewer's Hollow.

He let himself into the room and saw Molly was curled up on her side, sleeping. He took a few moments to study her. He wondered if she was shocked by death anymore. They both saw what violence could do to a person, but she was much more intimately associated with death. While he looked at each case as a puzzle, something that needed to be classified and studied and solved, she looked at each body that entered her morgue as an actual person and respected them as such. The more he thought about it the more he wondered what was wrong with him that he didn't do the same.

He changed as quietly as he could and slipped into bed next to her, pulling her close. He had found the night before, when he woke up unable to sleep because of the images of Moriarty that ran through his head after he had been dosed with the gas, that his hand drifted towards her abdomen. Yes, he knew it was still far too soon for there to be any sign that there was a child inside her, but he imagined that soon enough he would be able to feel his child kick. There would be a real sign that the child was alive and growing. He knew he would wait impatiently for that day.

She nestled against him for a moment. “She's still not going to kick, Sherlock,” Molly murmured sleepily. “Too soon.”

“I know,” he said his lips near her ear. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“It's all right.” She turned in his embrace and yawned slightly. “How did it go tonight?”

“Poorly. The case is solved, but the man who killed Henry's father will never be brought to justice. He was killed by one of the land mines around Baskerville.”

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “But your client knows the truth now, right? That's some good to come out of all this.”

“I suppose it is,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Still, the man won't see trial. Henry has lost his father and any chance he had at seeing justice done.”

“Maybe it's karma, that he killed his father and then died a horrible death himself,” Molly said, reaching over to touch his face. “I know you don't believe in that, but maybe there's something to it all.”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock said. He reached up to grab her hand, then pulled it to his lips and kissed her palm. He watched her shut her eyes and let out a contented sigh. “I want to forget tonight,” he said quietly. “Please, help me forget.”

“Of course,” she said, leaning in and kissing him. It didn't take long for it to escalate and he knew, at least for a little while, the whirring thoughts and ceaseless questions would stop. For a little while he would forget and lose himself in her, and then, perhaps, he could sleep tonight.


	4. A Risky Idea, A Failed Plan, A Painful Aftermath

It had been four months since he had started to think that, perhaps, things would end well. But he had been wrong, so very wrong. It had all gone to hell, almost every last aspect of his life. Moriarty had gotten what he wanted: Sherlock was discredited, his life a shambles. Even Lestrade had been turned to the idea that Sherlock could very well be a criminal mastermind. There was no way he was going to get out of this with anything at all about his life intact. The only real chance he had was to convince Moriarty to allow him his life. He would beg and plead if he needed to. Moriarty had reduced him to that. He had won. His only constants now, the only ones who believed in him fully, were Molly and John.

John had gone with Molly to work that morning. She had insisted on living an actual life, even with Moriarty beginning his final stages of the great game he had started when Sherlock made himself known, the game that had dragged so many innocent people into it. She had put up with the accusations and shunning at work with her head held high, and he would never forget that. He was a wanted man now, though, and he had to be careful. He carefully made his way to the morgue and paused at the door, looking in and seeing them inside. Today might very well be the last time he ever saw them.

He pushed open the doors and Molly looked up. “Sherlock,” she said quietly. She moved away from the body she had been working on, stripping off her gloves and tossing them on the table, and she rounded the table to come to him. They had only found out the week prior that she was carrying twins, a boy and a girl. He looked at her and knew full well that he would break his promise to her, that he would not be there for their birth. He would have to leave her to keep her safe, and that made him want to wring Moriarty's neck with his bare hands.

She embraced him and he held her close, looking past her and seeing John standing there. He wanted to savor this moment because he knew, deep down, that this might be the last time they were close like this. He nodded slightly to John, and John looked down for a moment before going into Molly's office, giving them some time alone. He pulled away after a few moments and looked at her. “I have to leave you,” he said quietly. “I'll have to leave for quite some time, if I'm ever able to return at all.”

“It's all his fault,” she said, shutting her eyes. He could see she had balled up her fists. She was angry, and that was good. She needed to be angry, because soon she would be in pain, and she needed something to focus on. “What's going to happen?”

“I'm going to meet him on the roof,” he said. “There is a good chance I won't be able to get my life back, even if I capitulate to him. I don't think he will stop until I'm dead. But I will try and get him to give me the computer code, see if I can salvage some aspects of my life.”

“You can't die,” she said. She unclenched her fists and grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket. “Please. Don't leave me to do this alone with no hope of you coming back.”

“How can I fake my death?” he asked. “If I need to appear to die today, how can I do it convincingly? You must have some idea.”

“Are you intending to jump off the roof?” she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Sherlock, you'll _die_ doing that! You'll actually die.”

“People have fallen from that great a height and survived before,” he said. “What do I need to do to avoid death?”

She let go of him, then went to an empty table and placed her hands on it, facing away from him. He wanted to comfort her, make a move towards her, but he held back. If anyone could help him fake his death it was her. He needed her help. He was afraid he might have asked too much of her, though. When he finally took a step towards her, though, she spoke. “It all depends on how you fall. Land feet first and you'll shatter your spine. Land head first and you'll break your neck. You have to be very careful in how you land.” She didn't turn to look at him. “Place a small ball under your shirt, at your armpit, on your left side. When someone checks for a pulse they won't find one.”

“Do you have one?”

“In my office.”

He moved over to her and he saw she was shaking. As he got closer he realized she was crying, quiet wracking sobs that she was trying very hard to hold back. His hands hovered over her shoulders for a moment before they settled. “Thank you, Molly.”

“Don't die,” she whispered. “I won't be able to deal with things if you really die.”

“I will not die,” he said, pressing against her. She let go of the table and turned, holding him close. “I'lll try and get him to back off, try and keep it from getting to the point where I need to jump. I am fairly sure if I can get him to give me the security code I can erase Richard Brook and prove to the world that Moriarty truly exists. If I convince him that he's won we may still have him lurking around, but all of this would be undone.”

“If you can't, what happens next?”

“I come here and you set me to rights. And then I leave.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “If I have to leave, I will do my best to take down the organization he has left behind.”

“He's not going to do it,” she said, pulling back. “Don't you see? He wants you dead. He's not going to willingly give you anything, not when he can take so much away.”

He knew she was speaking the truth, but he had to have hope. He had to at least _try_. “I will not let him hurt you.”

“He already has,” she said quietly, She pulled away from him. “I just...I need...” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I need to go. I can't be here right now. I need to deal with this by myself for a bit.”

“I understand,” he said with a nod. She looked at him, then leaned in and kissed him softly. She didn't say anything as she pulled away, turning away from him and heading towards her office. A few minutes later John came out, a rubber ball in his hand. “I need you to take care of her,” he said quietly.

“You know I'll do that regardless,” John said. “He's going to kill you, isn't he? Or make you kill yourself?”

“I don't know. He's unpredictable. There is the chance I can get him to give me the code. I have to take it.”

“I'm not going to talk you out of it,” John said. “If Molly couldn't do it I know there's no way in hell I'll be able to. Just get out of this alive, all right?”

Sherlock nodded. “When I call you, go outside. I'lll need you to make sure everyone believes I died. Act the distraught friend, play the part.”

“That won't require much acting,” John said with a grim smile. “You're leaving us alone for God knows how long. And there's always the chance you won't come back. And even if you do, nothing will be the same.” He handed Sherlock the small rubber ball. “I'll tell Mycroft what you're planning. We'll need his help.”

Sherlock nodded. “He made you promise to keep me safe, didn't he?”

“And I wasn't able to do that,” John said.

“This is beyond your control,” he said. “This is beyond any of our control.”

“Yeah, I know.” John came up and roughly embraced Sherlock. They had never had an exceptionally touchy feely relationship, but he knew this was what John needed. He embraced his best friend back, then pulled away and made his way to the roof.

Moriarty was already there, sitting on the edge and looking out. Sherlock pulled his phone out, and hit the record button on his recording program. He had set it up before he exited the stairwell, just in case it all went to hell today. At least then he would have proof. “Moriarty,” he said as he approached.

“How do you know I'm not really Richard Brook?” Moriarty asked as he stood. “I mean, there is no Richard Brook, of course. He's all a carefully crafted lie. But how do you know you haven't been played the fool for the entire time I've been in your life?”

“I don't have time for games,” Sherlock said tersely.

“And I have nothing but time,” Moriarty snapped in reply. “I had nothing but time when your brother was interrogating me. He's an idiot, you know. Everything I _really_ learned about you came from him. I played him for a fool, just like I played you.”

“You did not play me for a fool,” Sherlock said. “The computer code. You tapped it out when we met at my home.”

“Newsflash, Sherlock!” Moriarty said, raising his voice and waving his arms slightly. “There is no computer code. It was all a ruse, one you took at face value. If you had bothered to look deeper, you would have known. But you were too blinded by all the attention you were getting.”

“I didn't want it,” he said.

Moriarty looked at him. “No. No, you didn't. You would have been happy to live a contented life with Molly and your children.” Then he grinned. “Heard you're having a boy and a girl. Word does get to me quite quickly when it concerns dear Molly.”

“Leave her out of this,” Sherlock said, going up to Moriarty and grabbing him by his shirt, pulling him up slightly.

“I'll have her killed when she leaves the hospital, I think. Shot in the abdomen so there's no chance of saving the children, and maybe a shot to the head, just to be sure. And John too, of course. A pretty little head shot should do the trick. And then there's Mrs. Hudson at home, and Lestrade at Scotland Yard. Can't leave any of your friends alive.” Then he grinned a feral grin. “Unless you die first.”

“You have a fail safe,” he said, realization dawning on him. “There is something you can do to make them stop.”

“Why wouldn't I have one?” Moriarty said with a smug look on his face. “It doesn't matter, though. They're all more important to you than your own life. Jump off the roof, Sherlock. Jump and I make sure they all live to see another day.”

“What's to stop you from going after them after that?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing, of course. You'll have to trust that I'm a man of my word.” Moriarty put his hands over Sherlock's and pulled them off his shirt. Then he smoothed his shirt down. “It's been fun playing the game, it really has, but with you gone it just won't be fun anymore. Jump off the roof and I'll let them all go. You'll keep Molly alive, she'll give birth to children you'll never see, and they'll have to live with the shame of having you as a father. That will be torture enough for me to be happy.”

“What's to keep me from dragging you into Scotland Yard and making you confess?”

“We saw how a trial went already, Sherlock. Didn't you learn anything? I have a long reach, longer than you ever dreamed of.” He moved around Sherlock, taking a few steps back towards the stairwell. “You want to know my fail safe, don't you? You want to ensure your family and lover and friends are kept safe. You would give anything to keep them safe, even your own life.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, hating to admit it to Moriarty.

“That's what I wanted to hear,” Moriarty said, turning to face him, smug smile on his face. “Beg for their lives, Sherlock. Beg for them before you jump.”

The way he was being wheedled by Moriarty was aggravating him. He knew before that he had thought he would beg and plead, but now that the moment was upon him he found he wanted to punch the smug smile off his face instead. “I would rather die first.”

“Pity. If you had begged I would have triggered the fail safe. I may even have let you live, and we could have gone for round three at a later date. Or is it round four?” He thought for a moment. “The testimony was round two. This is three, so it would have been four.”

“What is your point?” Sherlock asked.

“My _point_ , Sherlock, is you made the wrong move. You _keep_ making the wrong moves. You haven't made a right one in the entire game. You shouldn't have started a relationship with her. She made you vulnerable and stupid. This whole game has been entirely too disappointing. So I'm going to force you to do what I want.” Then he reached into a pocket and pulled out a gun, putting the barrel in his mouth.

“No!” Sherlock shouted, moving towards him. But there was too much distance. Moriarty pulled the trigger, and the crack of the gunshot echoed in the air. Then he fell down. Sherlock went over to him, knelt down and felt for a pulse. There was none. “Damn,” he said, hanging his head. Moriarty had won the game after all. There was nothing left for him to do but jump. He walked just short of the edge and pulled out his phone, stopping the recording. Then he pulled up John's number, hitting send.

John picked up after two rings. “Did you get the computer code?” he asked.

“There was no code. Moriarty is dead. And I need to be dead now, too.”

“Damn,” John muttered. “What do you need me to do?”

“Exit the hospital. Go farther down the street, where you can get a good view.”

“You had best know what you're doing,” he said.

“I'm saving everyone's lives,” he said. “Talk to me, John. Reassure me that I'm making the right decision. Tell me that this will all work out in the end.”

“You want me to lie to you?” he asked.

“Yes. Please.” He scanned the crowds below. No one had noticed a man on the rooftop ledge, not yet. He didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He took a step back and shifted his hold on the phone, doing what Molly had instructed with the rubber ball. Then he stepped back to the edge. He realized John had not spoken in a few minutes. He wondered if John was alone or not, if it was safe to have this conversation. “John?”

“It's going to work out,” he said a moment later. “You will come back, and you'll pick up your life and things will be fine. You're doing this for the right reasons, even if I think you're a bloody idiot.”

“There's no other way.”

“There's got to be one.”

“I can't risk it, John. I will not lose any of you to him. He said he would have Molly killed, and you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. I have to take him at his word.” He could see John quickly walking away from the hospital now. “Keep walking, and turn when I say.”

“I don't want to watch you do this.”

“You have to. You have to help me.” Sherlock watched him walk one block away. “Stop now and turn around. Look up at the roof.”

He could just see John do as he was told. “Sherlock, I can't.”

“You must. It's the only way to keep all of you safe. When all of this is over, come up to the roof. Get my phone and give it to my brother. I recorded Moriarty's conversation with me. Hopefully the world at large won't think I am a fraud after it all comes out. My children will not be ashamed of their father.”

“Are you sure there isn't another way?” John asked, nearly pleading.

“No, I'm not sure, but I can't take the risk. When you have the phone go to Mycroft. Give it to him. Then come back for Molly. I do not want her left alone right now. You'll have to be strong for her. Be strong enough for the both of you.”

“All right,” he said.

“Good-bye, John,” Sherlock said. He ended the call and tossed the phone to the side. Falling was a great deal like flying, he supposed, only with a more permanent destination. He hoped he could control his fall well enough to not die. It would all be pointless if he actually died. And with that, he fell. He had to keep his eyes open. Watching the pavement come closer was hell, pure hell. But he had to fall in a way that did not kill him instantly, and to do that he needed to keep his eyes open. He was careful not to put his feet down, or not to lean forward too much. As the pavement got closer, he prayed he would pull it off.

The landing filled him with excruciating pain. If he had not felt the pain he was sure he would have doubted if he had survived. But he clearly heard the screams from horrified onlookers. Now was the hard part. Now he had to pretend that for all intents and purposes he was very much dead. He could hear John yelling, hear him coming up on the scene. He felt a hand search his neck for a pulse, and he prayed it was John so that if the trick had not worked he could lie. And then the hand was snatched away and another took its place.

He had once practiced a way to slow his breathing so it appeared he was not breathing at all. He began to do that so his chest was not moving up and down noticeably. He remained limp, letting those who were moving him think he had broken every bone in his body, which he thought could very well be the case with as much pain as he was in. He felt himself being lifted onto a stretcher, and then wheeled away. After a moment his perspective changed. He had seen sky before, sky that now rapidly became the ceiling of a hallway. It was hard not to blink, but he kept his eyes open until he recognized the sound of the morgue doors being opened. He heard Molly scream, and that was the hardest thing to take. The man who had wheeled him in had apologized, but Molly was having none of it. She came over to him and threw herself over him. “I'm alive,” he whispered, and the very act of speaking took considerable effort.

She reached for his hand and squeezed, crying over his body. When the doors closed again the crying stopped. “Don't sit up,” she said, getting off of him. “You must be in pain.”

“Excruciating,” he said.

“Rest,” she said. She leaned over and kissed his forehead gently. “Your brother called as soon as John got off the phone with him. He's arranging to have another body here to be buried in your place. Then he'll collect you and take you someplace you can heal before you have to go.” She was quiet a moment. “He expected it to end this way. I'm just sad he was right.”

“I will come back,” he said, squeezing her hand slightly.

“You'd better.” She let go of his hand and he turned his head to look at her. That hurt so much more than he had thought it would. He knew some of his bones were broken, though not his legs. He was fairly sure his wrist and arm on his left side was broken, and the wrist on his right side was badly strained. His knees hurt very much, and he feared he may have inadvertently shattered his kneecaps. But the pain had been worth it to make sure she and the children were okay.

“Will you give our son my name?” he asked quietly after a few minutes of watching her.

“Of course,” she replied.

“And our daughter will be named Alexandria?”

She nodded. “Alexandria Lynette.”

“Good.” He turned his head again. “I am sorry I won't be there, for their birth.”

“I know,” she said softly. She came back over to him and smoothed his hair back. Then she paused in her actions. She took his hand and moved it slightly so it was on her abdomen. “One of them is kicking. Do you feel that?”

“Yes,” he said. He had spent many nights sleeping next to Molly with his hand over his children, waiting for one of them to kick. Every time they had he felt a sense of peace settle over him. He was glad he got to feel them today because he would never get to do it again. “They are kicking quite strongly.”

She smiled down at him, a sad smile, and when she let go of his hand she went back to smoothing back his hair. It must kill her to see him like this, he realized, and yet she was giving him comfort. He hoped John could comfort her when he was gone. “I will take good care of them,” she said after a few more minutes. “I'll make sure they know who you are, so when you come home they'll know you.”

“'lll be a stranger,” he said.

“They'll know their father is a good man,” she said, leaning forward and kissing his forehead again. “They'll know he made this sacrifice for them.”

“I love you, Molly,” he said as he shut his eyes. There was no way he could comfort her right now, and that hurt him more than any of his physical injuries. He would not be surprised if he opened his eyes and saw she was crying.

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she said. Then she paused. “Be quiet. Someone is coming.” She reached over and pulled a sheet over him. He could hear the doors open and then the sheet was lifted again and he opened his eyes. “It's your brother and John.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said sadly. “He left you no other choice, did he?”

“None,” he said. He tried to sit up but there was too much pain and he gave up. He turned his head in the other direction, and it was just as painful as it had been to turn to look at Molly. “Did John get the phone?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said with a nod. “It is in my possession.” He looked over Sherlock to Molly. “There will be no body to take his place. We will bury an empty coffin. For now I will have you make a cursory examination of him to tell me the extent of his injuries, and from that we will doctor up an autopsy report. I will have him taken away in an ambulance driven by people I trust and I will take him to a place he can heal before he begins dismantling Moriarty's organization. So do the examination and then say your good-byes.”

“Very well,” Molly said with a nod. She pulled the cover back all the way and then began looking him over closely, asking him to do different things. Then she had John wheel his stretcher to the full body X-ray machine and she X-rayed him. She looked at the first set of films she had made, then gave them to Mycroft while setting the other set to the side. “He's hurt very badly, and if there's internal bleeding I wouldn't know. He has a lot of broken bones but he isn't paralyzed. Give him a few months and he'll make a full recovery, I think. But you need to have someone set the bones as soon as possible, or else there will be too much damage for him to function properly.”

“I will do that and give him as much time as I can to heal.” Mycroft checked his watch. “Make your good-byes now. The sooner he leaves the sooner we may put on the charade.”

John came over to his left and grasped Sherlock's hand. “You come back in one piece, all right?”

“I will try my best.”

“Try more than your best. I'll take care of Molly and the children. Don't worry about them.” John squeezed it and Sherlock squeezed back with a semi firm grip. Then he let go and moved over towards Molly.

“Come back to me as soon as you can,” she said, moving over. She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, a kiss he returned with as much eagerness as he was able to. “Don't worry about us. I'll make sure John takes good care of us. I love you, all right? Don't forget that.”

“I won't. I love you too.”

“Good.” And with that, she pulled away, and then the sheet was being pulled over him again. As he could feel himself being wheeled away he knew that it would be a long time before he saw any of them again, and he just hoped they were as strong as he knew he needed them to be, or else the plan would never work. And the plan absolutely had to work; he had not come so far to lose them to that madman, not now, not ever. He had to have faith that it would all work out in the end, and he just hoped they had faith too.


	5. All That Remains Are The Victorious Survivors Of The Great Game

**Four Years Later**

He was finally home.

He had spent the last four years keeping everyone safe, and he had paid a steep price for it. He had not been there for the birth of his children, had not been there for first smiles and first steps and first words. He was coming back a stranger to two of the people he loved more than anything in the world, the two people he had never gotten to meet in person and had only seen in photographs and videos sent by Mycroft through occasional e-mails and text messages. He had no clue how they would react when they saw him. He just fervently hoped it was happily.

He had not escaped without injury; he had been shot in the leg and had a limp now, for which he had a cane that he preferred to use as little as possible. And in his encounter with the last of Moriarty's subordinates, an assassin named Sebastian Moran, his right arm had been broken in two places and his fingers had been broken as well. He was in a cast up to his elbow at the moment with pins in his arm to keep the bones in place, but the doctor who had treated him had been confident he would be better in a few months.

Mycroft had given him the new key to his old home. There had been trouble for a little while after his death, and Mrs. Hudson had to change the locks several times. After a year it had died down, but the occupants of the house had been on high alert; Molly and John had known that he had only faked his death because Moriarty had made the threat, and none of them had been sure if the threat remained even after Moriarty's actual death and Sherlock's faked one. So until he returned home they had promised to be on their guard.

He opened the door, listening for sounds. There was excited chatter coming from the sitting room. He could make out John's voice, and Molly's as well. Then he heard a little boy say something. He nearly lost his composure right then, and then his daughter spoke. They were talking in sentences. They were already so grown, he realized. He had missed so much and now they were going to meet a man who was only a picture to them. It had not been safe for him to call his home just in case phone lines were being tapped. He had spent four years not speaking to any of them, only receiving the photos and videos at sporadic points. So he knew the sound of their voices, knew how they looked, but really, that had not been enough. And now he was nervous, not sure what to expect when he got up the stairs.

He made his way up to the sitting room. Molly was sitting in the chair he had always preferred, a little girl with curly brown hair the same shade as her mother's on her lap. She had his eyes, though; he could see that from the doorway. Molly was reading a story to her, and reading it in the voice of one character before switching to another in a different voice. He glanced to the side and saw an elaborate wooden train track on the floor, and a little boy who also had curly brown hair and an engineer's cap on his head moving a train along it, with John narrating his actions. These people, they were his family. They were safe and they were happy, and right now he almost felt like an intruder.

His daughter appeared to be bored with the story and so she looked around. She spotted him first and pushed her way off her mother's lap, a wide grin on her face. “Alex, sweetie, what's wrong?” Molly asked, looking down at her daughter.

“Daddy's home!” she said happily.

Molly snapped her head up so fast Sherlock was worried she might have hurt herself. Alexandria got on the ground and ran over to Sherlock, wrapping her arms around his injured leg. He looked down at her. “Hello, Alexandria,” he said, his voice thick. She pulled away from his leg and looked at him, lifting her arms up. He shifted his hold on his cane and knelt down to pick her up, holding her close and pressing a kiss in her hair.

“Oh my God,” Molly said, standing up. The book that had been on her lap slid to the floor. “Sherlock? Is it really you?”

“Yes, Molly, it's really me,” he said. John had noticed at that point and he stood up as Sherlock turned to him. He had a bewildered look on his face that slowly blossomed into a wide grin. “Hello, John.”

“It's good to see you,” he said, his own voice sounding as though there were a lot of emotions just below the surface. And then Molly hurled himself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and staying as close as she could. He nearly lost his balance as his injured leg buckled slightly but he righted himself. “Molly, he should probably put Alex down before he hugs you,” John said. “Or before he topples over.”

“Oh. Right. Of course,” Molly said, pulling away. Tears were streaming down her face. “Alex, let Daddy put you down, all right?”

“No. I want to hug Daddy,” she said, shaking her head before wrapping her arms around his neck. “Missed you, Daddy.”

Sherlock rubbed her back gently before tangling his fingers in her hair slightly. “I've missed you too, Alexandria,” he said quietly.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and that was when he felt his son come up and hug his other leg. “Daddy,” he said, looking up at Sherlock. “Give me a hug too?”

“As soon as I set your sister down,” he said with a grin.

“Your mum gets a hug first,” John said as Sherlock set his daughter down. He looked over at Molly. “I'd get in there before Sherlock starts climbing up his father's leg.”

“Right,” she said with a wide grin, moving over to Sherlock. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him. He held her close, happy to be able to kiss her again, to hold her close, to be there for her in a way he hadn't been able to be there since the fall. They kissed until he heard his son make gagging noises, and Molly pulled away and chuckled. “Sherlock, that's rude.”

“Kissing is gross,” his son said, making a face.

“Kissing is how you got here in the first place, love,” Molly said, looking down at her son. “We went over that when you asked why Mary was big in her tummy.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. Then he looked up at his father and lifted his arms up. “Pick me up?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said with a nod, squatting down again and picking his son up. He ignored the pain coursing through his leg as he stood. Then he looked at Molly and John, who had come over to her. “How do they know who I am? I thought I would have been a stranger to them.”

“We all made it a point to tell them all about you, and what you did before you jumped,” John said. “Mycroft sent us bits of video and snippets of your voice, the messages you asked him to pass on to us, and we had photographs of you that we showed them all the time. They've been waiting for you to come home so they could see you in person.”

Sherlock turned towards his son and pressed a kiss in his hair. “Eww,” he said, pulling away and making a face.

“Sherlock thinks kisses are how cooties spread,” Molly said with a chuckle. “He thought John's wife was full of cooties when her pregnancy started showing.”

“Her name is Mary, right?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded. “She's due any day now. She knows your secret. There's a few others who do. Mrs. Hudson, Greg...a few others figured it out but they've all kept it quiet so you could keep working on taking the organization out. Sally was the most surprised, I think, but she's stayed quiet as well. They've all kept it close to the vest.”

Sherlock set his son down and went back to Molly. “I missed you very much,” he said quietly.

“I missed you too,” she said, placing her hands on his chest. “We all did.”

“I have something for you,” he said, looking down and reaching into his pocket. “Mycroft helped by getting your size. I don't know if it will fit, but I bought this in Paris and I figured now would be a very good time to give it to you.” He pulled a ring box out of his pocket. She stared down at it and then looked back up at him. “I promised myself if I ever got home I would do this the moment I saw you. I should have done this before I jumped.” He opened the lid and watched as Molly's eyes went wide and she removed her hands from his chest to cover her mouth. “Marry me, Molly. Please. I will do my best to be a good husband, a good father. We have years to make up for, and I want to spend the rest of mine with you.”

“Yes! Yes, of course I'll marry you!” she exclaimed, lowering her left hand. He slipped the ring on her finger and then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. When they pulled apart he rested his forehead against hers. “Oh, I love you Sherlock. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he said quietly. “And I promise I will not leave again. I promise you I will stay here and live with all of you until the end of my life.”

“Good,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. He wiped them away as best he could, and then she hugged him, resting her head on his chest as he held her close. He could feel his daughter hug the two of them on his right and his son hug the both of them on his left, and he felt complete at last. He was home, and he had been missed, and he was loved. He could not ask for anything more than that.


End file.
